Anxiety. It’s not a party..

Sometimes it’s the feeling that a vindictive elephant is on your chest and will not let you breath.
Sometimes your heart beats so fast you think it will break out of your very ribs.
Sometimes it’s your head spinning so fast with plans..exit plans, back ups of back ups, what if’s and the many, many resolutions.
Sometimes it’s the being drenched in sweat.
Sometimes it’s the being drenched in tears.
Sometimes it’s the not being able to get off the toilet. For hours.
Sometimes it’s the (perceived) anger of others at your complete inability to be adult or even get your shit slightly together.

Sometimes it’s all of it at once. Sometimes it’s even more things.

It’s controlling. Like the most poisonous friend. It’s close to you and knows all your secrets but will let them all out in a massive torrent to make you re live all those moments of panic and anguish. It’s not your friend. It’s an Arsehole. It makes living a prison. Trapped in your head…making plans and plans and plans. Just to get down to the shop.

Schedules. Timetables. Anything you think you can do to win, to trick it so that you can live ‘normally’.  These things, these things are still a prison.
How is this living?
Then you spiral downwards, it senses this and really comes out to party.

I have fought with it. I have bargained with it. I have tricked it, but not for long. I have meds which are becoming far less effective at keeping physical symptoms at bay.

I know I am not going to die. I know that, even when everything is all going all at once. Worst case scenario is I’ll hyperventilate, conk out unconscious, the brain will chill and I’ll breath again at the very worst. But that’s not a fucking great back up plan isn’t it!?

So now, as I face the morning battle.. I thought maybe writing it down will be a way of winning today?
I don’t want much really. Just to get to work and be normal for five hours, then come back home.

Will it give me that or do I fight for it?

*sigh*

That’s the thing. How strong am I to battle with myself constantly.

My strength is sapped by other illnesses. It’s is hard.

But I fight it. Every day. Sometimes I do win. So that’s good.

Today I will win in the end. It may not be the war, but this battle will be mine.
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Seem to be kicking diabetes arse.

Even though the type 2 diabetes diagnosis was a shock and made me properly wig out, I seem to have been able to go down by 5 very important points through diet alone. Which is also ironic as I’ve basically spent 4 months freaking out about what to eat.

Needed to speak to the doc about changing my meds as metformin is some kind of IBS accelerant and damn near killed me.
I’d had my bloods done a while ago and asked him to check those… seems he doesn’t want me on any pills. The blood work showed the points drop. He is happy with that progress. So am I!!

Basically I go back in six months to repeat bloods, no need for new meds.

This is the news I needed.

I can kick this right up the backside and get to 50 ( and to be honest, I have no idea what these numbers mean, but its something to aim for with the doc, so I go with it) and hopefully be told I’m diabetes free at some point. Lose some more weight now. Sorted.

I am so very happy. I may be able to be free of a disease. And when you are stuck with fibro forever and are doing cancer checks for a decade, this is a proper glimmer of doability.

Get in.

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(Still not gonna gorge on cakes though… *sigh*)